You understand?"
"But the master is sick. I go with him."
"You stay here."
"I go with the master."
"I will not allow it."
"Then I follow behind."
"You have no canoe, no provision."
"I have legs. I can walk. I can eat tripe de roche."
The giant was trembling. I could not but respect this rebellion. He
had broken the chains of three centuries in his defiance. The thought
of his filling his cavernous stomach with tripe de roche--which is a
rock lichen, slimy and tasteless--moved me somewhat.
"You dare disobey me, Pierre?"
"But the master is sick."
I shrugged, but the logic held. "Then tell the chief," I capitulated.
"And see that I have something to wear."
Water was brought by one squaw, and another fetched more broth and
bound my shoulder with fresh dressings. Then leggings, robe, and
girdle of wolfskin were left for me. I put them on with difficulty,
and went to find Outchipouac.
I stepped out into a glare of sunshine and stood blinking. The braves
were gathered in a group, and a line of squaws barred me from them. I
started toward them, but the squaws waved me back; they pointed me to
the shore and the waiting canoe. Pierre rolled forward, uneasy and
scowling.
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